Sweet Nothing(42)

She pretends not to hear. “Anyway, I borrowed them to go to this poetry reading at this bar. And I was literally sliding off my barstool, ready to come home, and this guy trips and spills whiskey all over them.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Yeah. Uh-oh.” I tried to clean them, but that didn’t work. Then I tried to get Waverly really drunk and convince her that she’d spilled whiskey all over them.”

“And?”

“That didn’t work, either. Apparently, the girl knows the difference in smell between good whiskey and cheap whiskey. She said she wouldn’t be caught dead drinking the kind of whiskey that had ruined her shoes.” Gwen whips her hair into a bun, rifles through my drawers, and starts applying a seaweed facemask. “She was so pissed I could hardly understand her.”

I’m laughing and crying so hard, my whole body is sore. I can feel every blister, ache, and pain. Especially the one deep in the pit of my stomach. The part of me that feels totally wrecked by a guy I’ve only known a week.

“Men suck,” Gwen says softly. “They take what they want without thinking of the wreck they leave behind.” She blinks at her reflection in the mirror.

The front door slams.

“He’s gone!” Waverly bellows. Silence, then the sound of glass crashing in the kitchen. “Be there in a sec!”

“Well, you can tell she cares about you. You and those damn turquoise flats.” Gwen rinses her hands and uses my bath towel to dry them, leaving mint-green shadows.

“Yeah. I know.” It’s the one thing keeping me from doing a belly-flop off the edge of sanity: knowing that Waverly and Gwen won’t desert me the way Luke has. “God, I just feel so stupid, you know? I mean, I’ve been to his house! And I had no idea he had a wife or a kid or anything. Can you believe that?”

“He’s probably a pathological liar,” Gwen says simply. “That kind of person can con you without you realizing it.”

My eyes fall on the black-and-white photo of me, the one Luke took at his house the night we first kissed. I’d tucked it into the edge of my bathroom mirror, so I could look at it every morning. Now all I want to do is set it on fire with a lavender candle.

“Okay. We’re all settled.” Waverly hip-bumps her way through the door with a glass pitcher of tea and a stack of takeout containers. “That sonofabitch won’t be coming back here anytime soon.” She smiles and flutters her lashes at us. “Afternoon tea? The snacks are a few days old, but we can make it work.”

I let out a long, shuddery sigh. “Actually, I—”

“Okay,” Gwen says softly. “Sure, Ellie.” She stands up and nudges Waverly out of the bathroom, closing the door quietly behind them. And even though it’s what I want—maybe even what I need—it feels like shit to know that I am completely, utterly alone.





chapter seventeen



Elle,



School. Today. I’m. Screwed.



Love you for infinity,



A





The next morning, I’m showered and dressed almost an hour earlier than usual. Getting ready—the kind of ready that announces to the world in blimp-over-a-stadium-style that I AM JUST FUCKING FINE, THANK YOU requires extra time. Extra flatironing. Extra gloss. Extra tight clothing. Extra extra.

“Damn, girl.” Perched on the kitchen island with the Arts and Entertainment section of Sunday’s paper, Gwen lowers her travel mug to stare as I clack into the kitchen in a skintight navy knit dress and pointy neutral pumps. My feet are already killing me. Too bad. “Being dicked over looks kind of good on you.”

“Can we wait to use the word dick until after 8 AM, please?” Waverly herds me over to the table, then sets a nuked breakfast burrito and a glass of orange juice in front of me.

“Maybe you can.” Gwen slides off the counter and pours my coffee.

“Thanks. You guys are really sweet.” I demolish the first cup in seconds. I may look halfway refreshed, thanks to a generous coat of highlighter, but I barely slept at all last night. I haven’t had a nightmare about my family, or even a flashback, since the reception at Luke’s house earlier in the week. Practically a record for me. A record which came to a screeching halt at approximately 2 AM.

“You do look good, though.” Waverly eyes me approvingly. “You should walk by the art building on your way to lunch.”

“Desperate,” Gwen decides. “She should make him come to her.”

“I think I’m gonna try to focus on class today.” I bite into the burrito, which is frozen in some places and burned in others. To her credit, Waverly has melted at least eight different kinds of cheese on top. I love her. “Whatever happens, happens.” Of course, I’m hoping that I’ll see Luke. No. I’m hoping that he’ll see me, but only from afar. I’m not sure I could handle looking into his eyes. Being close to him.